#the delver's guide
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Our contribution for the Deck of Delvers! We are finally allowed to post it in public ~
We picked Zald Fenrir by @erithro. Zald is literally the gooddest boy, who is wearing an evil spiky armor because he just likes evil spiky armor.
We were happy to participate in this project and wishing it and its creators the very best!
The Delver's Guide on Kickstarter
The Delver's Guide on Backerit
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Card art (plus sketch) of Khonsu for Delver's Guide to Beast World, a 5E campaign with lots of cool critters and new races!
This was finished in the middle of last year, and was a lot of fun! I pretty much got to do whatever with this character and that's never a bad thing. :D
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Varasta - a luck deity.
Some artwork I did for The Delver’s Guide last year!
#delver's guide#beastworld#dnd#5e#anthro#art#fox#character art#lackadaisy#furry#roleplaying#tabletop
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started writing journals for her, since she fears forgetting her adventures.
#feline#domestic cat#journaling#quill#dungeons and dragons#druid#d&D#delvers guide to beastworld#feral#quadruped
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My beautiful bat by honovy <3
#furry#beast world#delver's guide#d&d#just because she's a cleric of mercy#doesn't mean she's a pacifist
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GREATAXE
[A Short Story about a Vampire, and those that fought it. Written for the community of The Delver's Guide to Beast World - and set within the Beast World. The following story contains visceral scenes of violence, derogatory language, and pronounced themes of emotional turmoil and loss of self - particularly in Part 4 onwards.]
PART ONE
There was a vampire in Madroileán.
It had put a tension in the air like Al’ar silk. You could see clear through it, but it cast an uneasy glow over all under it, and you could see that everyone was itching for their scian to cut it. The very idea was dragging up all the rotten old thoughts. All the horrid things whispered and sneered in times thought long past. The Vampire came from Allemance. Many did. They loved the veneer of royalty. Of monarchism, and power held over a class below them. They adored the theatre of it. Sometimes it felt like the nobility were all too keen to welcome them in when the gaze turned cynical and cold. And it felt like Glasrún’s gaze was colder than usual. More ammunition for the theories and whisperings that Madroileán’s many horrors were of Crown Gilt.
But for most of Madroileán’s kin, their concerns were less with what machination or conspiracy was responsible for the interesting times in which they always and eternally lived; and more with dealing with those times. In good years, with drink and song. But in years like this - with axe and blade. To call it concern did not seem quite right. There was a certain jovial stoicism in the types of beast that called Madroileán home. This was their life, and there was naught to do but get on with it and make the next day better than the last. A hard life, yes. But a good one. And an honest one. It was no wonder that Madroileán boasted a cadre of fine vampire hunters and delvers among the island’s alumni then - and it was something they were nonetheless glad for. Concern may not have been the right word. But there was a weight to everything that was not usually there.
Not everyone always came back from fighting a vampire. And everyone assembled knew it. It hung in the air as a cloud of daggers, each glance exchanged with another of the kern bringing with it the pointed, heart-stinging question in each direction.
“Which of us isn’t coming home?”
Clíona turned suddenly as someone actually said it out loud, blinking with shock. Her chain shirt rustled as she did, the whetstone coming to a scratch-halt along the blade of her sword, twisting to see who’d found the gall. Behind her, the water of Dramphine’s Well rushed and howled as it tumbled into the caverns below. And before her, a fox and a wolf held each other by the forearms, as they gathered shields and chain shirts and blades. With brows furrowed, and a coin marked with Dramphine’s image being worried between the fingers.
With her eyes a little more downcast, and her chest a little heavier, she returned her attention to her blade; though she did so now with her ears pricked and listening.
“McGuire sent a troop of footmen when he heard - and a wagon of Delvers showed up with a chest of crowns and a crate of silver, a gift from old Fred, apparently. There’s been talk of mercenaries coming in too, so…” They were speaking low, but halting. She worked slower now, so the sound of the whetstone on steel wouldn’t drown them out. So she could still listen in on it.
“So, maybe this might be less last hurrah, a little more vampire killing?” A shift of chain. A ‘clod’ of a cork sole on the stone. “You’re one of the mercenaries, right? That’s a mercenary’s sword.”
She looked back over her shoulder, even though the fox could only have been talking to her. But still she did the pre-requisite ritual. Looking behind her, glancing left and right - but she was the only one with a sword like that in her lap; with the guard ground to an axehead, and a heavy ring pommel, carved with runes down the blade. Clíodhna paused, halfway to nodding; halfway to shaking her head. Before settling on shaking it.
“No. Not today, anyways. I’m not here for crowns, I’m here for home.” If the scarf hadn’t given her away already, then speaking definitely did. The same song-sing voice, the same lilt and melody. “Any other day… aye. But I’m not about to charge going rate for the defence of my own home now, am I?” She offered up a tired smile, wiping the whetstone with her thumb, and setting it aside her on the low, polished stone wall that ran a ring around the spring and its pools. Her head went back slowly, away from the questioning fox in their ill-fit shirt of chain over a baker’s apron, and their nervous partner leaning on her spear like a walking stick. Up; towards the apex of the spring, where carven from marble Dramphine’s image stood tall, a lantern in one hand and sword in the other; the lantern raised - the sword resting low. The silver-light from the waters below danced across her form, making her painted chest seem to rise and fall with furor, her stern gaze wander across those assembled.
It made her heart ache. Which in itself made her rather abashed. A sigh came like a huff of exertion, then she reached down to the pouch at her side and from it drew a slender silver dart.
“I’ll give you something more to take hope in though -” she said, holding the dart up so it caught the light. “The Motherguard have heard. Tonight we fight alongside her stewards.”
She saw them flinch. Not everyone held the same puppy-eyed adoration for the Motherguard that she did. Many of the others assembled in the cave were not career fighters. For them, the Motherguard’s appearance was not the cry of a battle won. For them, the Motherguard took their payment in heartache. Away, the dart went.
“Give what you can. We will give what you cannot.” She almost flinched herself, saying it, before she pushed herself to her feet, and slid her sword back into its scabbard. Abruptly, she realised she had more eyes on her than just the couple she’d been talking with. It became keenly, painfully clear to her that of all the people that had gathered in this sanctum, she was the only one of them who both had real training - and still had the vitality of youth to put it into practice. She knew her kinsmen were a hardy people, but…
Regardless. She was glad that they had the support of the continent. She pushed it from her mind, and settled to help the volunteers fit their arms and armour.
#furry#my writing#creative writing#original writing#fantasy#the delver's guide to beast world#GREATAXE
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Wanted to knock out character art *before* the start of the campaign they're in for once, so have at it - Iset Nefertari, the totally un-spooky jackal ranger I'll be messing around with in a few weeks <3
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for Bramble from 2020
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The Arbiter of Dawn
"My name is difficult to pronounce in Common tongue, so just call me 'Seiros.' Listen, Delver. Our mutual cooperation is just a temporary arrangement. Don't get too attached, got it?"
Drawn by https://www.instagram.com/finaldawnart/ :)
Also posted on my FA: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/52835299/
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I’m part of a tabletop campaign now, and it’s been fun so far even with just one session. I honestly didn’t think that I’d get to use the stuff I backed for Delver’s Guide to Beast World, what with the havoc around 5e and everyone talking about switching systems and stuff.
It had me feeling really down because I thought that all my enthusiasm was a waste of time and the stuff I backed was gonna become a paperweight unless I joined a rando game of 5e on Roll20 where the DM tries to be too grimdark.
One of my fav things about the Beast World aside from being able to play as a furry in the setting is its hopeful, optimistic outlook. There are no bandits on every road and commoners don’t live in mud huts barely scraping by. There was a major pivotal war where the actions after the enemy’s defeat were heavily centered around mercy & justice, and people in power working really hard to make sure that that mercy & justice happened. There’s danger and evil, but it’s not lurking around every corner. It’s really exciting to play my first campaign in this setting.
I’ll prolly talk more later about the first session we had this last Sunday. Right now I need to get back to work.
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Delver’s Guide to Beastworld has consumed my brain.
I cannot wait to play with the setting this week.
Hehehehehehrhrheh
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Hrant of the Beylik of Arneria
This is yet another OC. This one is Hrant, a bison that I am playing in a 5e Campaign based on the Delver's Guide to Beast World setting (An excellent book, if you're into TTRPGs in general, but especially if you're furry.
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His name is Oscar. He is cool dad who went to prison and drinks some. I miss him. He is my friend's character for DnD.
Want to talk to me more about it? Join fireside here:
https://discord.com/invite/zZtKWSH7Yh
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#oc:pidge#domestic cat#dungeons and dragons#awakened familiar#d&d#shit SHIT SHIT MY CARDS#AHHH#druid#wild card druid#delvers guide to beast world
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gaze upon zaya and despair
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When you went off to college, your parents presented you with a fancy Swiss Army knife. It has the knife, the other knife, the corkscrew, the flat AND Phillips screwdrivers, the tiny magnifying glass, the bottle opener, the other other knife, the file, and the very small saw, which should allow you to cut down any tree in the forest in approximately six months. (You have, however, lost the toothpick.)
Jimmy perches on top of your walking stick and gestures to the crack in the wall with one wing. “This entryway seems pretty stable,” he says. “Once you get deeper in, things move around a lot.”
You step through the crack in the wall and immediately see a wall covered in graffiti. The most interesting bit, so far as you’re concerned, is a white chalk mark of an arrow and a circle. You immediately recognize hobo sign, which you took a class in. While there are some questions as to how authentic the signs are to actual hobo culture, they were popular among dungeon delvers some fifty years ago.
This mark means “Don’t bother going this way.” The arrow is pointing east.
“There’s nothing much that way,” Jimmy confirms. “Just a painting of the Madonna of Leaves.”
You go west instead, and after some turns, you eventually reach a staircase going down, into a large room. Jimmy regales you with descriptions of what lies through the various doors, like a very small tour guide. “That way goes to some clockwork bees and eventually a scary door…nobody’s ever managed to get it open…that way is sometimes a creepy horse skull and sometimes a corridor that goes deeper in…looks like it’s the skull today…” He trails off, gazing south, where a ramp slopes down. “And then there’s that room.”
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